In My Veins
by DElove32
Summary: Elena had a perfect life; she was loved and had a big future. Who knew everything could change because of a bad choice and a slick road? Damon was used to being closed off. He learned the art of suppressing his emotions since the day his mother died. When Elena is sent to live with her Uncle Grayson for the summer, Damon and Elena's paths intertwine unexpectedly and flames ignite.
1. Chapter 1- imv

**AN: Hi guys! So I'm back with a new story and I'm so excited about this one. I've been working on it for months and I really hope you enjoy it!**

 **This is an AU, all human delena story set in the summer time. Also, I want to make clear that Elena's birth parents/the ones that raised her are John and Isobel, and her older sister is Katherine.**

 **ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy:)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own vampire diaries or any of these characters.**

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Chapter 1: Goodbye's

 **Elena**

Most stories start out with some-ground-shattering revelation or tragedy that wreaks havoc on all involved. It changes them in every way possible, leaving them to pick up the pieces and claw themselves out of the darkness.

Not to be cliché or anything, but that's exactly how my story begins… except, that life altering moment is merely the preface. My story starts with an uptight mother and condescending sister, hell bent on being the ones to push me further into my impending doom.

"Elena?" My mother's flat voice echo's from the living room through my closed bedroom door. I sigh heavily, dropping my book on my wrinkled sheets and stand up slowly. It's not unlike my mom to call me downstairs for a chore or to reprimand me on a wrongdoing, but I've been fairly good these past few months, and the house is clean, just the way she likes it. An unsettling feeling washes over me as she calls my name again, her impatient tone alerting all my senses.

I quickly walk down the flight of stairs to find my sister, Kat, and mom, Isobel, sitting on the couch. I glare at Kat as I notice a half-concealed grin gracing her sharp face; she raises her eyebrow at me in return. I can instantly tell that one of her ridiculous plans has fallen into place; I'd seen that look from her more times than I could count.

A shiver runs down my spine as I notice my mother's lips are sealed in a hard line as she sits as stiff as a board, it is almost unnatural.

"We need to talk," my mom states, not meeting my eyes as she focuses on the coffee table in front of her. "Sit."

I roll my eyes at her demand, showing my displeasure, but lounge against the arm of the loveseat anyway. While I seem collected, I'm the opposite. I'm afraid. Her attitude wouldn't seem off to others, but I see it. Her eyes are weak, her voice shallow. She's thinking hard, but trying to stay detached. _She's aged_ , I think sadly. Her hair has grown strands of light grey and the wrinkles in her skin are more prominent.

Both women are quiet for a moment, and I know whatever this is can't be good. Things have been hostile in this house since dad's accident. Hateful words were said, things no one can take back.

"What's this about?" I ask hesitantly.

My mother clears her throat and sits straighter in her seat. It was clear I wasn't going to like what she was about to say. "Kat and I have been talking… and we think it's in your best interest to spend some time away."

Wait… _what_?

This makes no sense. At all. What does she mean ' _spend some time away_ '? And Kat…?

"You and _Kat_ have been talking about my best interest? Kat couldn't give a damn about me!" I shout in shock and downright anger. My mother says my name, scolding me for my language, but I couldn't care less. They have no idea what's best for me! All they care about is themselves, that much is obvious.

"Elena, you know that we care about you-"

"No, Kat. You are not allowed to say that you _care about me_. Not after the way you've treated me."

"Enough!" Mom raises her normally cool and collected voice. "This is not up for discussion, Elena. You're going to spend the summer with Grayson and Miranda in New York. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" I ask, baffled that we've come to this. "I can't leave and you know it! What about my job at the Grill? What about cheer camp? What about Bonnie and Caroline-"

"They'll be waiting for you when you get back," Kat states simply and I give her a nasty scowl.

"What do you think this will resolve, huh?" I prod my mother who is finding too much interest in her finger nails. "Do you honestly believe sending me away will help us at all?"

"I think we all need a little time apart," she replies in an even tone.

"You wanna know what I think?" I stand up, boiling with fury. "I think that in two months I'll hate you even more than I hate you now."

Before I know what's happening, I'm being slapped hard across the face.

I cower back in pain from the stinging sensation on my left cheek. A rush of hurt and embarrassment hit me as I see my sister avert her dark eyes. I get over it quickly when a tidal wave of rage hits me. The anger that I've kept in the past few months takes over.

"God, what happened to you?!"I scream at her and storm off to my room, forcing my tears back until my door is firmly locked.

I throw myself on my bed, carelessly knocking aside my open book and a pillow. My eyes swell with tears, and I let them fall.

Sobs forcefully wrack through my body as realization dawns on me; my family _hates_ me. I'm not going away for my own benefit; I'm going for theirs. They don't care about my life here in Mystic Falls, my responsibilities, or my fraying friendships; they just can't look at me any longer.

I've never felt more alone than I do in this moment.

* * *

When my alarm clock blares bright and early, my hand rapidly flies to the _off_ button and I pray that I haven't woken anyone. I stare at the ceiling, my eyes so puffy that I can't focus on anything in particular. I groan as memories of last nights 'discussion' fill my head.

I know that I shouldn't have told my mother I hated her, but she deserved to feel as hurt as I was. I know I shouldn't have yelled, I should have tried to talk it out, but any range of level headedness I had before completely eluded from me last night. I know that I can't face my mother or sister this morning, not after I was hit and shamed by my own family.

I jump to my feet, grab a duffel bag out of my closet, and start to angrily toss random articles of clothing in. I also stuff my toiletries and multiple pairs of shoes with no sense of organization. Caroline would be furious…

Thinking of Caroline, I send her and Bonnie a text, hoping at least one of them will see it, despite the early hour.

When I get to the edge of my bed, I sigh, sobering up from my super-packing-rampage and reach for the metal box under the mattress. After removing the lid, I analyze the inside. I remove a small wad of cash, my journal, and a few photos. Despite my horrible mood, I soften as I scroll through the photos; one of Caroline, Bonnie and I in a photo booth, making silly faces at the camera and hugging one another; one of Kat and I giggling at each other as we played dolls back when we actually liked each other; and my favorite, one of my father grinning down at a much younger version of myself as I stare up at him, an amazed expression dominating my features. It's a simple photo, but sometimes the simplest things in life are the best.

I shake my head slightly before my hardly suppressed emotions sneak up on me. I carefully place the photos between the pages of my journal and slip the leather binding and money in my purse.

I throw on a pair of denim shorts, a dark blue t-shirt and sandals before tossing my hair up in a messy bun. I only bother with some quick concealer to cover up the dark circles that formed under my eyes due to my lack of sleep.

I sneak across the hall to my mother's room, relieved to see that she's still asleep, and retrieve the plane ticket sitting on her dresser. I leave a short message on the table, notifying my family that I'm catching my plane. I stare at the unfeeling words sadly, wishing my family could be normal. I can't even write an 'I-love-you', and imagining an actual goodbye with hugs and kisses horrifies me. Does that make me a terrible person? Maybe, but I'm not any worse than the women sleeping two doors away.

We didn't used to be this way. We had our issues, even then, but we were still a unit. Mom wasn't cold like she is now; she was independent and liked her space, but she was never mean, per say. She loved me as any mother could love her daughter; but our relationship was always different than her and Kat's. They were closer. Maybe it was because their personalities were almost identical. Kat always liked things her way and was a bit selfish at times, similarly to mom. In the end, I knew my mother loved herself just as much as she loved me, if not more. But, I was always a daddy's girl, so it never bothered me much.

I hastily send my friends a second text message before I gather my bags. I look around my room, making sure there's nothing I forgot to pack, when I catch sight of someone in the floor-length mirror. Her body is visibly tired, her eyes frantic, yet sad. The thin, hardly noticeable scar stretching the expanse of her hairline appears a sickening grey in the dim lighting. She heaves heavy bags over her boney shoulders, much sharper than they used to be. It's hard to link the reflection to myself. This person is a stranger to me, ironic because I've always had a strong sense of who I am. I'm Elena Gilbert; good friend, peppy cheerleader, dedicated student, worker, and daughter. But that girl is gone now, replaced with something darker, hollower; a skeleton, empty and jagged around the edges.

When my phone begins to vibrate in my hand, I practically run from the mirror and make my way to the front door.

I sigh at the sight of Caroline's small car, and I can't help but smile softly knowing that no matter what life throws at me, some things never change. Any time I need something, I have at least two people I can count on.

I carry my bags down to the car and swing open the backseat door at the sight of Bonnie in the passenger.

"God, Elena, why did I have to come so early?" Caroline questions, rubbing her eyes tiredly as I sit, placing the duffel bag in the seat beside me.

"How are you?" Bonnie asks, referring to the brief text I sent them about my departure, concern evident in her expression.

"I already told you last night, Care," I sigh, buckling my seat belt securely. "I wanted to get out before my Mom or Kat woke up. And I'm fine, Bon."

"You sure?" Bonnie prods.

"No," I state, running a hand down my face. "I'm pissed."

"This is ridiculous!" Caroline exclaims. "She can't just exile you from Mystic Falls for a full summer! Senior year is in a matter of months! How are we supposed to make prom court when you're MIA?"

"Care-"

"This just really sucks, Lena," I see her frown from the driver's seat.

"Tell me about it," I grumble as we zoom through the town that throughout the years has raised, empowered, and crippled me

"Hey Care, hold on." I place my hand on her shoulder as I see a familiar road up ahead. "Can you stop there?" I point at the old metal gates in the near distance.

I watch Caroline and Bonnie share a concerned side glance and attempt not to feel like the fragile child they sometimes make me out to be.

"Of course, Lena," she says softly, slowing down and pulling into the narrow drive of the cemetery. The car comes to a halt a short distance from the stone I've come to hate.

"This won't take long, I promise, I just need-"

"Take as much time as you need." Bonnie breaks me off, giving me an empathetic smile.

I nod back, not trusting my voice to not break. I quickly jump out of the car and walk the familiar path, the sticky heat clinging to my skin. I pass the graves of Brent Rogers, a 50-year old heart attack victim, Kyle Neilson, a twelve year old cancer patient, and Nancy Fields, the crabby old woman who died in her sleep. I finally get to the grave of Johnathan H. Gilbert and drop to my knees before it, as I have every day since it's been here. I brush my fingers along the letters engraved into the grey rock and let out a shaky breath.

"Hi Dad," I whisper, down casting my eyes to the freshly grown grass. "I don't really know what to say here…"

I shake my head, as if the act can clear my thoughts. In this moment, I'm glad Caroline parked far enough away so I can have this privacy.

"I'm leaving for a little while," I start to explain, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "Mom and Kat thought it was a good idea…I think it's awful. And I know what you would say; you'd tell me not to be mad at them. They're only doing it because they love me."

I consider the words I speak next.

"But they've changed, Daddy. You being gone- they hate me for it, for what I did. And I'm sorry," I breathe out. "I'm so so sorry."

I sniffle quickly and wipe away a tear. "I'm sorry that you're here because of me. And I'm sorry I'm breaking my promise."

I think back to the promise I made to myself all those months ago; I wouldn't go a day without seeing my dad, even If he was deep in the earth. But, now I don't have any choice but to break it.

"I'll think of you every day." I flatten my palm against the stone as I collect myself. Once my breathing is steady and eyes are dry, I stand, throwing a parting glance at the rock, and walk back to reality.

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 **What did you guys think? Please review and leave any questions, comments, or concerns! They are greatly appreciated:)**

 **Next chapter: Damon's POV...**


	2. Chapter 2- imv

**Hi guys! I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and happy holidays:) Thank you to those who reviewed on the last chapter! Feedback is very much appreciated!**

 **Also, I forgot to thank my beta _love of escapism_! She is a HUGE help and if you haven't yet, you should check out her DE fic, _Chalk and Cheese_ because it's so good!**

 **Anyway, here's chapter 2 from Damon's POV as promised:) I hope you like it!**

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Chapter 2: The Monster Inside

 **Damon**

 _I clutch my chest tightly as I hide in the dark shadow of a building, trying to keep my breathing silent as I hear the footsteps clashing down the alley. My panic constantly increases as the distant sounds become closer._

 _"_ _Where did he go?" one of the boys growls at the others._

 _"_ _Do I look like I know? Stop talking and look!" another demands in a cold voice._

 _I press my back into a dingy wall, barely concealing my body from the open, and close my eyes. I hope if I can't see them, they can't see me._

 _I should have known they'd come after me; they always do, and walking home alone was the worst idea I've had yet. Mason and his minions have been the ultimate bullies for the past year now, finding sickening pleasure in terrorizing kids like me; small and unimportant. That's the only way they can get away with it._

 _"_ _Come out, come out, wittle Damon," one of the boys mocks, his voice nearing my wall. My stomach is doing flips, the urge to throw up my lunch is overwhelming as I picture all the terrible things these boys can do to me._

 _I have no escape and no better hiding spot. Why did I think an alley was a good idea?_

 _"_ _Oh boys…" Mason's menacing voice sounds from far too close, sending a chill throughout my body. "I think I found our favorite little 6_ _th_ _grader."_

 _The second I open my eyes, a fist comes in contact with my cheek, causing me to lurch forward in pain. The boy's chuckle as they circle around, lining up as they wait for their turn to throw a hit or a kick my way._

 _I push back against the wall, steadying myself, knowing that if no one's going to protect me, I'm going to have to do it myself. I wipe away my fear, anxiety, and doubt before squaring up my fists._

 _"_ _Well would you look at this," Mason snickers. "Salvatore wants a fight."_

 _I gulp as the boys laugh raucously._

 _"_ _C'mon Salvatore, hit me," Mason mocks, taking a step closer and presenting his cheek with a wave of the hand. I stare him down, my eyes sure to be displaying the resentment I feel bubbling all throughout my body. "I'm sure a tiny guy like you can beat me to a pulp," Mason states sarcastically._

 _"_ _Shut up, Mason," I spit, lowering my fist in the slightest as he towers over me._

 _"_ _He won't do it," Mason chuckles menacingly as he turns to the boys. "Like father like son, right boys?"_

 _That does it._

 _As Mason's sharp smile turns my way, I throw my body at his, hitting, kicking, and scratching like a maniac before his friends eventually pull me off. In a matter of minutes, I'm bleeding and bruised in a crumpled ball on the cold ground._

 _"_ _You're worthless, Damon Salvatore," he spits on me, "A mistake!"_

 _Through my clouded vision, I can see trails of red trickling from Mason's face and a bruise forms under his left eye. I find the will to smile, knowing that this despicable boy is bleeding because of me._

 _"_ _At least I'm not you," I shoot back, "You're father treats you awful."_

 _That earns me a swift kick in the side._

 _"_ _At least my father wants me," he hisses down at me before scurrying off to his friends, muttering under his breath._

 _I couldn't deny that one; my father hardly notices my presence and he doesn't take the time to try. But I can't hate him, not because he doesn't deserve it, but because he means as much to me as I mean to him; nothing. We have no relationship; he leaves that to my mother._

 _My mother who will be worried sick if I don't get home soon._

 _With that incentive, I manage to find my feet and limp the short distance home._

 _"_ _Damon, what on earth are you doing home so late…" my mother's stern voice trails off as she sees me, black eyed, purple bruised, and dry teared, standing silently in the doorway. Before I know what's happening, she's holding me more tightly than she should and crying profusely._

 _"_ _What happened, honey?" she gulps, caressing my blood-streaked cheek. "Was it those boys again?"_

 _I stay silent, not wanting to talk or risk another beating from Mason's 8th grade gang. I feel numb as she studies me._

 _She stares at me confused, but doesn't ask anymore. She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom, where she starts to clean and bandage my wounds._

 _"_ _Momma, what's wrong?" my little brother appears at the bathroom door, holding his blanket tight. "Is Damon okay?"_

 _I look away, not able to meet his inquisitive green eyes, feeling ashamed to be seen like this. I don't want my brother thinking I'm weak._

 _"_ _Everything's okay, baby," she soothes, kissing his forehead. "Just go back to sleep."_

 _Stefan looks between us, a confused furrow to his brows, but follows our mother's orders and goes back to his room._

 _After eating some leftovers and icing my injuries, I find myself crawling into my father's empty spot in my parent's bed._

 _"_ _Damon?" my mother asks from beside me, probably making sure I'm her son and not some deranged stranger breaking in._

 _"_ _Do you think I'm… I'm a mistake, mom?" I ask quietly, needing to know the answer to the question that's been haunting me. I know I wasn't a planned child, the whole town knows it. I just wanted to know if I was an unwanted surprise, as Mason likes to point out._

 _She's silent a moment as she turns over in the dark to face me._

 _"_ _No, honey." She brushes my slightly over grown hair out of my face. "I love you, very much."_

 _"_ _But I was an accident?" I question, trying to make sense of her words as she sighs heavily, clearly not liking the question I've asked._

 _"_ _I never want you to think those words again, Damon," she whispers in the silence. "You were far from an accident. In other people's minds, they might see it that way, but I don't."_

 _"_ _Dad doesn't see it like that, and don't try to deny it, Mom. He's never been close with me, and I know why."_

 _She doesn't say anything, and I know she won't deny my statement. I might not be a mistake in my mother's eyes, but I will always be in my fathers._

 _"_ _Shh, shh, just close your eyes, Damon. Tomorrow's a new day," she says, wrapping an arm around my side. "Just give up on it, okay? Don't worry about him."_

 _I respond by snuggling closely to her, relishing in the warmth that only a mother can provide._

* * *

"Just give up, Salvatore," Will snickers, as he throws another blow to my chin, which I would have undoubtedly dodged if my mind wasn't honing in on my mother's voice, repeating those same words from the past. Will takes advantage of the mental breakdown, kicking my feet out from beneath me, causing me to fall on my ass with a groan. I quickly wipe away the memories of the ten year old boy, falling to his fate in the alley, and remember that I'm not that boy anymore. I don't lose.

I rear my legs back, using them to send Will flying backwards. I quickly stand, despite the twinge of pain searing through my back, and throw my fists at the man while he's down. I focus on the task at hand, refusing to let my subconscious again take over, and use my pent up frustration to hit harder.

"Okay, okay!" Will coughs up blood, using his hands to shield his face. I hear his words but I ignore them, as numbness has taken over. I can't stop. I know I need to, the guy looks like he's about to pass out, but my brain and my body are not linked.

It's when someone grabs me from behind, using their full force to tear me away from the crippling guy in my hands. I clench my fists as I come back to myself, panting heavily as I see the blood staining my knuckles. God, it's so much blood.

"What the fuck, man?!" the guy who pulled me away from Will shouts, as he aids his friend. "What's your fucking problem?!"

Despite my mesmerized state, I know this is when I' m supposed to run; so I do. My feet push through the alley, as I distance myself from the scene.

As I run, my mind wonders; how could I have lost control like that? How could I be so stupid? Just because I can defend myself doesn't mean I should put myself in a provoking situation like that. I really lost it, and I could have put that douche in the hospital. _How could I lose control?_

 _You lost it because you're weak_ , a part of my mind responds, the part I try to ignore. But I can't now. I know it's true. I lost control because I _am_ weak, and I'm weak because I can't let go of the past. I can't forget what should be erased. I'm weak because I've seen too much in my 18 years, and to this day, I can't cope the right way. Hell, my 15 year old brother has been through nearly the same shit as me and he's found his way. And that's the eternal difference between my brother and me; he can move on when I can't. Maybe it's because he was too young to have all the ties like I had, or maybe he's just a strong headed person, but he makes it in this crazy world just fine.

I can't, and I hate it.

"Is that you, Damon?" Stefan calls as I close the front door behind me. _Does he ever leave?_ I think silently to myself.

I ignore Stefan, quickly walking upstairs to my bathroom, unable to tear my eyes away from the blood coating my hands; someone else's blood. I throw my palms down on either side of the sink, steadying myself, refusing to look up at my reflection.

"Damon?" I hear Stefan's voice as he walks in my bedroom.

 _Couldn't he hear my angry footsteps? Doesn't he know them well enough by now? Can't he take a hint?_

"Damon is that you-" his sentence drops as he peers around the corner. "What the hell happened?"

I flex my fingers as I hear that damned concern in his voice. _How could still worry about me? I think we're past that point._

"Did you really get into another fight?" he demands, inching closer to me. I can feel his curious eyes staring at mine in the reflection of the mirror. "What's your goal in all of this, Damon? Do you honestly get your kicks out of getting the shit beaten out of you? Why do you keep picking these fights?!" Stefan exclaims, working himself up.

The force of his words breaks me out of my trance.

"How do you know the guy didn't have it coming, huh?" I throw back, turning to face Stefan as I fume. I ignore how his eyes widen, fully taking in my face, which I'm sure is a bloody mess right now. For the slightest second, he wears the same face as he did when he caught me after my first fight; inquisitive and concerned. I do what I did all those years ago, I turn away. "And for your information, I'm the one who walked away," I add in, feeling the need to add my winning status.

"Oh, Yeah? And how do you feel now, Damon?" Stefan fumes, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "You're proud you hurt someone? Glad that another person's blood is on your hands? Happy that your entire family is starting to seriously worry about you; showing up to dinner half an hour late bruised or slightly drunk? Yeah, we're not idiots. We know what's going on. You should hear Miranda!"

I'll admit it, Stefan's words cut deep, just like he intends them to. I'm not _proud_ or _happy_ about doing the things I do. I hate that my family worries about me, and that's something I'll have to work better on. But I need to feel, and when you've felt such drastic lows, it's not an easy task.

"Stefan, I really don't want to do this right now, okay? I know I fucked up, I don't need you reminding me," I mutter, tired of this whole night and ready to be done with it. Not to mention, my jaw, which I can feel swelling, is starting to really hurt like a bitch.

But Stefan doesn't budge; he remains stagnant, his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed, the anger has faded from his eyes, leaving them… sad. I hate it when he looks at me like that.

"I just don't understand it, brother…" he trails off, keeping his green eyes on mine. "You haven't always been this way. Why can't you be content? You're leaving New York for college in just a couple months, you're going to be a lawyer and work for dad's firm, just like you always wanted, you're done with high school, and we have this house to ourselves for nearly a month. Why aren't you happy?"

I think about his words for a moment. Stefan's always been observant, but I've never noticed how much. He's right about several things; I h _aven't_ always been this way, as hard as that might be to believe. I wasn't always rebellious and reckless; I was the opposite. After our mother died from some weird blood disease, shortly after my eleventh birthday, I turned cold and detached. Losing the one person who always cared, I grew estranged from my friends and peers, and became independent and concealed. I hardly talked to Stefan, even though I knew he was going through the same things as I. But things changed when I started my freshman year in high school. I couldn't live the way I had for so long. I was too lonely, too disconnected from everyone and myself. I couldn't live with this throbbing hurt and sadness buried deep in my bones. It was becoming too much. In my darkest hours, I considered ending things permanently, but I knew I couldn't leave Stefan alone with our father. So I did the only thing I could think, and that was to feel again.

But going back to Stefan's speech, he was right when he said I have every reason to be happy. I'm obviously not. I've never really wanted to pursue a job as a lawyer, as my father has been pushing me towards for years now. Hell, I don't even know if I want to go to College. I don't know what I want, but I sure as hell don't want to live someone else's dream. I don't want to be who my father wants me to be.

"What makes you think I'm unhappy?" I challenge, raising my brow inquisitively.

"I know you, Damon," he states. "You're always stealing the heavy alcohol out of the cellar or messing with others when you're bored or annoyed; this is the second time this month I've found you fresh out of a fight. That's not normal, happy behavior."

"Is it such a bad thing to like the high life?" I make a feeble attempt to sway him different, but he's not budging from his 'Damon is sad' theory. "Look, I'm really not in the mood for a therapy session today, Stef."

"But Damon-"

"Stefan!" I raise my voice, earning a throb in my head as Stefan steps back slowly, taken aback by my raised voice."Just go."

He shakes his head, frustrated at my behavior, and storms out, leaving me in an uncanny silence.

I take a heavy sigh, knowing what comes next. I slowly turn, meeting my jumpy blue eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Now I understand why Stefan was so freaked out. My chin is plump, swelling dark purple, but that's not the most startling part. The worst is the cut in my lip, which isn't too big, but it produces a mass amount of blood. A layer a dry red coats my darkening jaw, and corner of my mouth, its metallic taste fresh on my tongue. I swiftly spit in the sink, hating the sickening tang. I grab the hand towel, dampen it, and hurriedly cleanse my hands and face of the disturbing scarlet liquid. I can't explain my fixation to be rid of the blood; I just know that I can't last another second with it clinging to my skin.

When I look back up, my eyes darken as memory surfaces, the same one that burdened me earlier. Seeing my face so brutalized reminds me of that time, many years ago, when I was in a similar condition. The only physical difference now is that I'm taller, broader, lost my baby fat and gained some definition. The bruises aren't as brutal as they were worn on a child, because I rightfully deserved them now, picking fights with people I shouldn't.

Then, my small, swollen face was caressed by my mother. Now it wasn't.

As that thought crosses my mind, something shifts in me. Before, I felt the same way I've been avoiding to feel over these pass four year, detached. Now an anger throbs in my veins; anger I can't explain. It's as if every fiber in my body ignited with a furious fire. I didn't know if the rage was directed at myself for what I've done, my emotions, or even the rousting of painful memories, but it demands me to act, with every aching bone in my body.

Before I can process what's happening, my fist jerks forward powerfully, busting into the mirror. The need to destroy hasn't been this dominating since… since her death.

I stumble backwards, not falling, but just slouching against myself. I lower my clenching, bleeding hand and stare at a shattered fragment of the mirror reflecting up at me from where they've scattered on the floor. In the cracked chip is a distorted version of my face; one half is slightly above the other, my blue eyes are not aligned.

I look as broken as the mirror.

"What has happened to you, brother?" I distantly hear Stefan in the background, his voice soft.

 _Too much_ , I think to myself, _too much, brother_.

My eyes widen in panic as I realize what I've done.

"I- I need to go," I stutter, taking a few steps backward, away from the broken glass before fully sprinting out of the room, ignoring Stefan's pleas for me to stay. I don't even bother with my car, knowing I'm far too out of it to be driving. I run and run and run, my lungs heaving painfully, but the adrenaline pushes my legs. At some point, I find myself slowing until I'm leaning against a tree in a very familiar park. I press my back into it as my feet slide in the grass. I just close my eyes, letting the afternoon heat swallow me whole.

As I come down from my adrenaline rush, I realize that I've just sprinted around 3 miles, and I probably look pretty messed up to anyone who sees me, bruised and frantic as I am.

 _Whatever_ , I brush it away, _let them think what they want; their opinions can't be far from the truth._

The unyielding truth, the one that I've fucked up, and as much as I want to feel again, fights, alcohol, probably not even sex or drugs could help me. What I've been doing all these years have simply been distractions, because the truth is too damn hard to deal with.

The real question is: am I too fucked up to be repaired? Can I turn myself around someday?

Could I ever be someone _worth_ it?

These thoughts haunt me as I slowly start to lose consciousness, probably due to my constant and unyielding heavy breathing, the smothering heat, and my choking emotions. I embrace the blackness with happy hands at first, but the radiant head of brown pacing towards my tree makes me wish I stayed just a little longer.

* * *

 **SO what do we think about Damon? He's had quite the struggle:/**

 **Please review and let me know what you thought or ask any questions!**

 **Next chapter is Elena's POV:)**


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